Friday, December 26, 2014

If Santa Were A Jock

With the lights out, the action-lava of nostalgia smashes into a plateau,
into a grid touched by its jock sun, the firmament encoded into lulz
with the Jedi vibe of Reddit most foul, of gods enamored with my dump. 
I watched Goombas share a sleeping bag and forgiveness wander into gore, 
in the ER, hands on the funky chakras of a football mascot. 
The animated chatter of the reanimated corpse, though –
in the comments – can you feel Yoshi’s castles?
I have … seen things you people wouldn’t believe.
When I close my eyes, I still see stuff … Christmas circling back
to the blaster in a screenshot, glitching from hobo to robo – to bro –
spawning milkshake in its casual death, chiming relative
to its mortal throwback, adorable as jelly latching onto fear.    

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